Retribution
by Ayash
Summary: Ghosts of Spawn's past haunt his future (Chapter 3 is up!!!!) ;)
1. Retribution

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Aaron's Spawn Fan Fiction  
Retribution  
  
New York is considered by some to be "the Great American city". The place where art flourishes and ideas are created. To Spawn this is "the Great American Sh*t-hole" a place where sin is so commonplace it is accepted and ignored. The Police are abusive, the Priests are sick and demented, the politics corrupt, and citizens victims. Some people try to find a bipartite solution to the problem, to Spawn there is none. There is no such thing as justice except for that which he delivers. When the police caught the gangster "Handsome" Frank he was released in six hours (no questions asked). When Spawn caught the gangster "Handsome" Frank he ripped off his genit*ls and fed them to him. But you would hope Spawn would enjoy a time when the streets were clean and the people kind and friendly. No, Spawn was born in violence, he was born in Hell, he lives for it he thrives in it, and without it he is nothing.  
  
* * *  
  
"Push! Push! Come on you can do it," squealed his fifty thousand brothers.  
  
George pushed. He was almost there! He had to do it quick before his mother eats him. She already ate his father for God Sake. George could smell his rotting carcass. The thought of preserving his own life gave him strength, he pushed with all his might and broke free. His brothers followed after him as they celebrated their new freedom from that ivory prison. That celebration was soon ended as their great fearsome mother came to devour her children. George couldn't move, he was petrified. He was telling his legs to move but the horrible act of infanticide was too much for his young naive mind to take. A mind that never witnessed evil, a mind that had only existed for a few hours, which soon comes to a thought. A simple impulsive thought that all beings come to in times of crisis. The thought of flight. And flee he did.  
  
Down hanging threads, through dusty passageways, and past falling xenoliths. Finally he came to a stop. "Safety," he thought, but not just safety his first victim. He crept on top and planted his fangs into fresh meat.  
  
Spawn was sitting on his throne when a small spider dug it's fangs into his skin. When he was alive Spawn would have found this to be quite a nuisance. But Spawn's nerves had been incinerated in the flames of Hell. His veins and internal organs were gouged out and replaced with pure necroplasm. So Spawn "the walking corpse" watched with mild amusement as George turned into a bubbling puddle of pus.  
  
* * *  
  
Detective "Twitch" Williams was the first to arrive at the scene of the crime. He always was. He walked around the perimeter of the room a few times to get the feel for it. He memorized every detail every , every blood stain, every way the objects in the room were positioned, he was even careful to avoid ruining the foot steps that settled in the dust. Finally the cavalry arrived and the blood stains were smeared, the objects were shifted, and the dust rose up and settled again.   
  
"What can we do for you sir?," said a nameless officer.  
  
"Oh nothing you've done quite enough sir, thank you," replied Twitch.  
  
"Should we begin dusting for finger prints sir?"  
  
"That would be a good idea," answered Twitch.  
  
It would be a few hours before William's partner Sam Burke arrived. He was slug of a man. A very fat, stupid, and sloppy slug. Twitch on the other hand was skinny, well dressed and very neat. Their relationship would be funny if it wasn't such a cliché.   
  
"Nice of you to show up," commented Twitch, "Did you stop for donuts?"  
  
"First of all: Shut up Twitch! Second of all it was pizza," yelled Burke.  
  
"Ah I see you discovered a meal between breakfast and brunch."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, don't preach to me just tell what happened."  
  
"Well at Midnight last night, screams were heard from this warehouse and at 5:00 a.m. this morning a girls body was found. But nobody saw anybody come in or out of the building."  
  
Sam had a deep moment of absence of thought, "So obviously," he said with deep concentration and conjugation, "the killer is still here!"   
  
"Uh sir..."  
  
"Not now Twitch I'm having a brainstorm."  
  
"Oh god," said Twitch shamefully.  
  
Sam had cornered a box. "Okay Twitch I'm going to jump him, cover me." Sam jumped and crushed the empty box. Twitch took a quick moment to relish in his partners humiliation in front of the other policemen then went down to the morgue.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well she's obviously dead but there are no signs of beating or marks of any kind."  
  
"Do you think the attack could have been internal?," asked Twitch.   
  
"Not from what I could tell," said Mortimer, "If she had a pulse I'd say she was a perfectly healthy girl."   
  
Suddenly the door burst open and Detective Sam Burke emerged.  
  
"All right I got back ground information on the victim," he said proudly.  
  
"That's great sir," said Twitch with obvious sarcasm.  
  
After the mortician told them all he could find out he said he had another "patient" and left the room. The closing of door was followed by the dull rattling of chains and the stench of burnt flesh.   
  
"Spawn, Hello," said Twitch meekly.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa this is police work Spawn we don't need your help," said Burke.  
  
Spawn's eyes suddenly began to illuminate the room a bright emerald, "I never offered my services, I came here out of my own interests."  
  
"Oh yeah child murder that's always interesting. That kind of stuff turn you on Spawn."  
  
Spawn ignored Sam and began to inspect the body.  
  
"What do you expect to find that the doctor's couldn't."  
  
"She's alive," said Spawn.  
  
"What, impossible!" said Twitch.  
  
"Hey dingus there's no pulse and no brain activity, I flunked kindergarten and know that's a dead broad."  
  
"And pregnant."  
  
"So what does that matter," said Sam.  
  
"The child was conceived less than twelve hours ago," said Spawn in his cold rasping voice.  
  
"How can you tell?" asked Twitch in disbelief.  
  
Spawn expression changed to one of confusion, "I don't know."  
  
"All right I've had enough of Mr. mysterious's bullsh*t if you want me I'll be at my place getting drunk."  
  
Right before Detective Burke could leave the room there was a new voice, a voice of innocence and ignorance. The voice came from the "dead" girl laying on the table.  
  
"Oh where am I?"  
  
* * *  
  
Her name was Stephanie she lived in the Bronx with her father (who was a minister). The detectives, the morticians, and Spawn did not ask her any questions they just let her walk away. Everything seemed perfectly normal and there seemed nothing to worry about. Except Spawn knew this mystery was not solved and when it finally is, and he knew it would be, he would not like the results.  
  
* * *  
  
Cog is Spawn's teacher and mentor. He is a hellspawn himself a very old and fabled one. If anyone could help him find the answers he wanted it would be him.  
  
"Spawn, you come seeking guidance. I only hope in the wisdom I have gathered over the countless years I've been alive I can help you.  
  
Cog was sitting on a turned over trash can stroking his cat. He looked like a regular homeless person. Except for his eyes, those black eyes that have seen innumerable kingdoms fall and prophet's prophesies come true.  
  
"A mysterious gestation has occurred..."  
  
"Where the girl died and was resurrected, yes this not unheard of it is usually when the unborn child contains such a powerful life force that the mother's own life force goes through a short shut down period to adapt to the new internal environment."  
  
"I see, so you're saying this child may have potential for extreme benevolence and nobility..."  
  
"Or potential for great malice and hatred, tread cautiously Spawn there may be more to this than we suspect."  
  
There was a brief pause.  
  
"So what are you going to do?," asked Cog.  
  
"I'm going to switch fields with the child," said Spawn regrettably.   
  
"What? That's insane you can't."  
  
"I must."  
  
"Then I'm coming with you."  
  
* * *  
  
It was a hot sticky night in the Bronx. If Spawn or Cog had sweat glands it might have bothered them. As they entered Stephanie's room the smell of perfume and polyester clashed with the stench of death and disease coming from the old man and his protégé.  
  
"I don't like this Spawn."  
  
"I didn't ask you to come, now make yourself useful and keep the girl asleep while make the mind transfer."  
  
Cog obeyed and put his hand over Stephanie's head, she shifted a little then went back to sleep.  
  
"Done, are you ready?"  
  
"Yes I'm going in."  
  
Spawn eyes went blank and his body collapsed. Cog began to fear something went wrong. Then his body rose and stood up straight. A voice came from it's throat but not the cold rasping voice of Spawn. It was a younger voice, a more childish voice.  
  
"This was not the body I was promised," it said.  
  
"Who are you?," asked Cog.  
  
"I am nothing, I am the absence of being, I am the killer, the r*pist, and the thief, I am not the mischievous cartoon character called Satan, or the giant omniscient Santa Claus you call God. I am simply the end. If you want to call me something you can call me End."  
  
"Are you here to destroy the Earth?"  
  
"Fool!," yelled End and a wave of his arm Cog was thrown against the wall, "I said I was the End. Were you not listening? The end of all things, every thing ever created. When I am done ideas won't exist. And that end starts with you, you fungus."  
  
End raised "his" fist, which metamorphosed into a knife, but before he could strike the body went limp and collapsed onto the floor.   
  
"Cog?"  
  
"Spawn I thought I'd never be so happy to hear your voice."  
  
"The Creature it calls himself..."  
  
"End, I know."  
  
"No that's not all, the creature is the spawn of the Malebolgia."  
  
"No that can't be true," said Cog in disbelief, "Malebolgia's been dead for years."  
  
"Yes but his seed remained in the form of an incubus."  
  
"You mean it infested the girl during..."  
  
"Yes, this is all a back up plan he had in case he died and now there's only one way to end it before it begins."  
  
Spawn placed his hand over her forehead. "It ends now."  
  
Nothing happened.   
  
"Well do it already."  
  
Nothing continued to happen.  
  
"No not like this, it's not right."  
  
"Right and wrong don't matter right now all that matters is the fact that we exist. Think of your loved ones for God Sake."  
  
"I won't do it."  
  
"You naive Sonuvabitch, do you really think this one act of kindness will stop what's going to happen."  
  
"It's to early to tell, but what will come will come and we'll be ready when it does.  
  
And with that he turned into a storm of bats and disappeared into the dark Manhattan horizon.  
  
**The End?**

  

  
  
  
  



	2. Revelation

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Aaron's Spawn Comic  
Revelation  
  
There was a boy who lived in the Bronx who cut out his own heart. Then awoke to find the heart replaced while holding the previous rotting organ in his hand. This was the third time he tried this, but unfortunately (or fortunately depending how you view it) it was to no avail. Knives, bullets, even small explosives were useless.   
  
He had a black eye. For some reason that didn't go away. But some things did. One time he was playing in Strawberry Fields when some one's dog struggled loose from it's leash. For some reason it chose him as its victim. The beast pounced on him and began to tear delicately at his flesh. The pain was searing, burning, and then it was gone, but that wasn't the only thing gone. The dog was gone to. But it didn't go to another place, it was simply gone.  
  
One day he was walking to school when he was stopped by a pack of skin heads. One pulled out a chain, another pulled out a knife, the last one pulled out a gun. The boy knew he could easily prevent this but he didn't want to. He was hit in the head with the chain. He still didn't want to. He was stabbed with the knife. He still didn't want to. He was shot with gun. He did. Soon they stopped moving. Then like empty balloons. They collapsed and fell into neat little piles of flesh. Then the boy spoke in a voice that was not his own. A voice born of darkness, a voice born of violence, a voice born of Hell.  
  
"How dare you strike me, how dare you stand up to me, how dare you even breath my air, and walk my Earth, you wh*res, you excrement, you are nothing, you are dust, you deserved what you got. Did you really think you had a chance, did you?," he hollered this, and then chuckled," and I'm not sorry, I'm glad I did it, and if given the chance I'd do it again. I am..., I am...," he paused as if trying to remember his name, not his birth name but his true name, the name he was destined to bear, "I am the End! I am End!"  
  
This is something he tries to forget. He hates what he is. He hates what he will become. But he knows he will grow to enjoy it, to find passion for it, to love it. And that is what he hates most.  
  
* * *  
  
"It has begun Spawn," said Cog  
  
"Yes, I know, I can feel it," replied Spawn.  
  
"You know you could have stopped this if it wasn't for your miserable heroics. This whole situation could have been avoided."  
  
"That was in the past Cog, don't dwell on it, there is nothing you can do about it."  
  
Cog mutters some inaudible curses in an old forgotten language. Then there was a pause.  
  
"Tell me Spawn, when we first encountered this problem you said we would find a solution."  
  
"Yes I did."  
  
"Well did you?"  
  
Spawn did not answer back.  
  
"I was wrong," said Cog, "Those weren't heroics, they were cowardice."  
  
"Cowardice, cowardice!," screamed Spawn, " All your thinking about is yourself you didn't even care about her."  
  
"She would have died too Spawn. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or did you forget that too. If given the chance I would have killed her myself."  
  
"Then why didn't you?"  
  
There was another pause.  
  
"Because I'm a coward like you."  
  
* * *  
  
In his previous life Spawn could paint. Using cosmetics, blood, and various secretions Spawn would paint on the red brick alley walls. He would start with her hair, then her eyes, and then her lips, especially her lips. When he was done he would simply stare at the picture for hours. He would then he would tear it to pieces and smash the pieces into dust.  
  
"They took her from me," he would whisper meekly, "THEY TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!," he would screech.  
  
This was all part of Spawn's little tantrum. He would throw a few dumpsters, break a few skulls, after a while he would finally get tired and go to sleep. When he woke up, he woke up feeling sick. This pattern of events became routine for Spawn.  
* * *  
  
It was early in the morning when Detective Twitch was called into the morgue. Sam was called in at the same time but Twitch knew he would be late. He hated the morgue, everyone did. It smelt like a place cold lifelessness. The worst part was the horrible truth that each cell contained a body, a person, a soul. A soul savagely cut down before it's time.  
  
The subjects that he was meant to examine were three skinheads whose "bodies" were found four hours ago. They actually weren't bodies. Bodies have bones, organs, and blood. These were hollow shells, these were just piles of skin.   
  
"It's perfection, it's beautiful, it's art," said Mortimer, "no cut marks, no bruises, no anything. There organs were removed without any sign of abuse, no sign of damage, not even a prick of agony."  
  
"You're being awfully light-hearted Mortimer," said Twitch, "You seem to be forgetting the severity of the situation."  
  
"Yes, of course, "severity.""  
  
The "bodies" were laid flat on the metal table. Their clothes looked bigger, mainly because they were not meant for "bodies" this small.  
  
Twitch was in the middle of deep thought when Sam burst in.   
  
"It's okay I'm here," he said.  
  
Twitch shook his head in disapprovement.  
  
"Sam may I speak to you," whispered Twitch.  
  
"Yeah okay."  
  
Once they found privacy in a room full of jarred organs Twitch told Sam what he thought of the situation. He told him he thought there was no way a human could have done this and he told him they needed Spawn's help.  
  
"No way," said Sam, "No f*cking way, am I gonna accept help from that lunatic."  
  
"We have no choice," said Twitch regrettably, "It is the only way."  
  
"Fine, but it's not like you can call this guy on a cell phone. How are we supposed to reach him."  
  
Twitch thought for a moment.  
  
"I have an idea," he said.  
  
* * *  
  
"Twitch you really don't think they'd carry this kind of book in the library."  
  
"Where there's a will, there's a way," replied Twitch holding a book entitled Summoning the Dead and Other Supernatural Beings.  
  
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," whispered Sam in disbelief.  
* * *  
  
In a deserted alleyway Detectives Sam and Twitch drew a pentagram. Once all the appropriate markings were written on the perimeter of the circle surround the pentagram the dark ritual was set to begin.  
  
"I'm not doing it Twitch."  
  
"Come on, just slap Gods name with the whip and recite the words."  
  
"I'm a Catholic Twitch and I don't do what's wrong."  
  
"No your a cop who does what's necessary to get the job done."  
  
Sam sucked it up and began to chant.  
  
"Oh Lucifer, the dark lord and master. And Mephestopheles so cunning and ruthless. I call upon you to deliver to me your faithful servant the hellspawn Al Simmons."  
  
* * *  
  
That hellspawn was currently working on the same case had entered the room of the same culprit. Time to correct my mistake, he thought, but this was not a mission of thought, it was a mission of action. And Spawn knew what to do. He took out a sword, the same sword he used to kill this boy's father and began the downward motion.  
  
Before Spawn could strike he appeared in an alleyway in the middle of a pentagram.   
  
"Dammit!," he screamed.  
  
"We summoned you to ask you some questions Spawn not to hear your emotional outbursts," said Twitch calmly.  
  
"You fools," shouted Spawn, "I need to go I need to go back."  
  
"Hey your not going anywhere," yelled Sam," not after what we went through."  
  
But Spawn did go, he kicked off the ground, metamophosized into a storm of bats and headed back towards the Bronx with Sam and Twitch following close behind in their squad car.  
  
When Spawn arrived it was too late, the boy had already woken up and was looking pretty pissed.  
  
"You try and take my life," he hissed, "I'll kill you."  
  
"Stop," said Spawn firmly "We know your powerful, you've already proven that, but first think about what your doing. Oblivion is the worst possible thing that could happen to this world and to you. If you won't think about them think about yourself."  
  
Spawn was afraid for the first time in his life. He knew what was at stake and he knew he was risking it all.  
  
"You don't know what I've been through," said the boy, "I've been treated like sh*t since I can remember. I even started believing that I was nothing. But now I know that's not true now. Now I can make them all pay for what they did to me. Because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair you hear me. I didn't do sh*t to them."  
  
"Those people, the people that hurt you, will get what's coming to them, I'll see to that myself. But you still have a chance to be happy. Die now and end it before it can begin."  
  
"Perhaps your right," he said, "perhaps my time is up."  
  
With that he bowed his head to Spawn and Spawn (feeling very relieved) grabbed the sword and prepared to deliver the final blow. But before he could a word was spat out of the boy's mouth.  
  
"Fool," he screamed.  
  
And with that all of existence disappeared.   
  
The End?  
  



	3. Recognition

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Aaron's Spawn comic  
  
Recognition  
  
Al Simmons was born in Albany but was born again in Hell. Now as he stood on the threshold of oblivion he began to remember his life. His two lives. His parents did their best on a modest budget. He descended from slaves kidnapped from Africa, but valued America's new freedom so he was patriotic at a young age. At three he memorized all the songs about the American flag and would spend his preschool days reciting them. At four his violent tendencies began to start. A boy a year older than him called him a "n*gger" Al didn't know what that was and neither did the boy but it set off a spark that caused an explosion of rage. Fights were normal at his age, but Al didn't know how to stop and he didn't want to stop, he was having too much fun. He delighted the cracking noise of his fists hitting bone and spilling blood. Sometimes the blood would fly up like a fountain, but he wanted to see more than blood he wanted guts, he wanted to choke him with his intestines, and hold his heart in his hand and feel the pulse. The fight lasted a good five minutes and Al got his ass kicked, but we began to see a side that would develop more later in life.   
  
By eighteen Al joined the military where he killed for his first time. It was in a village in Baghdad where the occupying power wasn't willing to give into U.S. demands of occupation. Al was under supervision of the legendary Jess Chapel. They had already mowed down civilians who were fleeing their burning homes. Al only pretended to pull the trigger and no one noticed. He may have dodged out of this one but his moment was coming up soon. After killing his citizens, burning his towns, and bombing his cities, they thought the current Iraqi leader needed some more convincing so they were going to pay him a little visit. This is crazy thought Al I was only sent here because of a bet my commanding officers made, and no one bet I would make it they were betting the hour I would die at. Al's platoon passed the barriers of the president's mansion and killed the guards, they were now in the his office.  
  
"Come on Mutherf*cker all you need to do is sign this treaty and we leave," said Chapel," It's as simple as that."  
  
"I will not let your government take over my country," replied the Dictator.  
  
"Oh you will," said Chapel," you just need a little convincing." He searched the crowd of soldiers for a victim. He found one. "Simmons, get over here."  
  
"Yes sir?," said Al nervously.  
  
"Show Mr. Mustafa the fine art of U.S. diplomacy."  
  
Al looked at the fallen dictator with pity as Mr. Mustafa lost all bodily control.   
  
"You better sign this treaty," he said nervously, "Or else I'll get really mad," and he shook fist as if to look threateningly.  
  
"No not like that!," yelled Chapel," Like this." He slammed his machete on the table cutting off the once powerful leaders fingertips. "Come on do it, he only needs one hand to sign the treaty." Al looked at the other soldiers for help, they were all watching him as if he was about to pass some sort of test.   
  
Al squeamishly cut him along the face and cringed at his screams.   
  
"Come on you can do better than a little paper cut."  
  
Al didn't want to admit it, but he liked those screams and he wanted more. He loped of his entire hand.  
  
"Atta boy," said Chapel as he and the soldiers looked approvingly. But Al wasn't done he wanted more. He started cutting, slashing , and dicing until Muhammad Mustafa was made into little pieces.  
  
"Holy Sh*t boy," laughed Chapel," You really f*cked up there. How are we going to get him to sign the treaty."  
  
Al lost his rage and began to look a little guilty.  
  
"Hey but don't worry kid it's all right we can always fake his signature."  
  
"Really," asked Al hopefully.  
  
"Sure we do it all the time, we were just having a little fun with you, don't take it too seriously."  
  
From that point on Al began to rise in the ranks of the army and his televised rescue of the U.S. president got him a job under a new mentor: JASON WYNN.  
  
The missions became bloodier and victims more innocent, but Al was a good soldier and did what he was told. Killing became an addiction, he lived for it, he needed it, no sex or love could ever match to the joy of killing, or at least that's what he thought.  
  
Her name was Wanda Blake, when he saw her the anxiety while away from battle disappeared, he didn't even want to go back to war he just wanted to be with her. It took him four days to get the courage to talk to her. At first she didn't seem remotely interested, but that changed, after a while they moved in together. Al's life seemed perfect he had his two favorite things killing and Wanda, with a life so perfect something would have to go.  
  
One day in Somalia Al and Chapel were driving in their humvee. Al had his head out the window enjoying the breeze and the delightful stench of death. When suddenly Chapel stopped the car and pulled over at a small apartment complex. This was supposedly the head quarters for the terrorists who bombed the United States embassy five years ago. A direct assault was too dangerous for two men they had to use a more brutal approach.   
  
"One...Two...Three...Four, that's it."  
  
Chapel fired a small missile at the fourth room on the top floor, it was a direct hit. Quickly the pair raced up the stairs until they arrived at the room. The explosion had taken out most of the terrorists but the leader and his girlfriend were still alive. Chapel busted in the room and took out the leader.  
  
"Here," he said as he handed Al a small pistol, "Finish the job Simmons."  
  
Al pointed the gun at the girl, but then he noticed something. It was Wanda, she had her hair, her eyes, even her lips. He fired six shots. Smoke escaped from the barrel and holes appeared on the wall. He didn't hit her once.  
  
"I guess I'm a little off today," said Al.  
  
"Yeah I guess so," said Chapel a little concerned, but that voice of concern turned to one of anger, "You little sh*t! When I give you an order you better damn well follow through."  
  
"Sorry sir," said Simmons weakly.  
  
"Sorry doesn't cut it, it's over Simmons your finished!"  
  
The next day Al was in Wynn's office feeling very nervous.  
  
"Now Al, I can call you call you Al right?," said Wynn kindly.  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Please rank doesn't exist here just talk to me as if I were your friend." He put his hand on Al's shoulder, "So tell us Al, and only if you want to, what happened yesterday."  
  
Al told them, he told them about the landing in Somalia at six hundred hours, the assault at twelve hundred hours, and how he didn't kill his target fifteen minutes later.   
  
"Thank you Al that was very helpful, don't worry I'll take care of this, everything will be fine."  
  
After Al left Wynn's face became sullen and stoic. "He's a security risk it's as simple as that."  
  
Chapel appeared from the shadows. "Why don't you just give him a discharge?, he's obviously unstable."  
  
"We just can't discharge him he still has the support of the president for saving his life."  
  
"Can't you wait for the presidents term to end?"  
  
"No he can't jeopardize another mission."  
  
"So you want him eliminated."  
  
"Yes, but make it look like the enemy did it."  
  
Al spent that night with Wanda, it didn't matter if his missions lasted for weeks the time they spent together made it worth while. Nothing could go wrong, not with the love of Wanda and the support of Wynn. Everything was fine.  
  
The next night Al had just finished a successful assassination when suddenly two figures appeared in front of him. One was a woman, one was a man with a skull painted on his face that glowed in the night. There wasn't time to react he felt himself being him very hard in the stomach by two hard blunt objects. He tried to lift his gun to fire but he didn't have the strength. Then came the worst feeling of all. He felt fire, a huge ball of it, the heat made him want to die, he felt his limbs evaporate and turn to dust, then his body, then his face, until he was nothing.  
  
There was darkness, and in that darkness a voice called out to him.   
  
"What do you want? What ever you want you may have," said the voice.  
  
It was the most beautiful voice he ever heard. But he was so confused he didn't know what was going on.  
  
"Wanda!," he screamed, "Wanda where are you."  
  
"Very well you have made you choice."  
  
Suddenly the darkness disappeared and he found himself in an alleyway curled up like a frightened child.  
  
This is what Spawn remembered as all of existence disappeared in front of him.   
  



End file.
